I am stood at an artisanal food and drink market. 

To my left a chocolatier where the ganache shimmers like jewels. People stop just to offer wows. To my right a baker, who gets up before 4am every morning to hand craft pastries.  Sweet soft aromas of fresh almond and vanilla drift towards my rumbling tummy. He is brilliant and he’s very passionate about his product. I called his pastries cakes once and he didn’t speak to me for the rest of the day. 

And here I am with a range of ciders. The bottles presented nicely, and mostly award winning.  

The lady in front of me must like cider. Or maybe she’s really thirsty. She came straight over. “Hello” I say. 

“Do you have perry?” all she offers in return. 

Just two years ago I felt like I had to explain exactly what a perry was. I must have repeated “If cider is made with apples, then perry is made with pears” to a point where the words just came out without thinking. But, thankfully, the tide is turning, and slowly perceptions are being altered. 

“Yes.” 

“Oo, ooo, oooooo.”

She sings out down the marquee to her friends. “Peeeee-rrrrr-yyyyyyy.” They almost came running. 

I am pleased to say she bought a few bottles of perry. And indeed a mixtape of different ciders. And as she danced off, what I remember is how the thought of perry had almost made her break into song – her oooo’s rising in an almost arpegiatted arrangement. 

It made me think – is perry musical? 

To start, of course, it is the classic three piece. The unfermentable sugar bringing a touch of natural sweetness, there’s the citrus zing acidity, some tannic structure. 

Like music, perry creates memories. It turns strangers into friends. And the more you get into it, the more you appreciate the nuances. Perry and music – art forms, bringing joy, enriching our lives. 

Perry is to be shared – like your favourite song, or the lyric that you rewind to make sure the other listener has fully appreciated it as much as you do. 

And most of all perry is an experience. I know exactly where I was when I first tried my first Thorn. “Do you remember when we opened that bottle of Gin”.  The thing with perry, or least my thing with perry, is that I want to get into it. Background perry isn’t a thing. I don’t go to the pub after work for a couple of quick perries. I want to get home, slip the perry out of its sleeve, lay it carefully on the turntable, adjust the needle, and let it take me away. 

Imagine, if perry was music? What would it be? 

So here is a few perry varieties and my take on its musical association. 

Thorn – How can a smell be a feeling? Pear and melons and the creamy white blooms of early summer. The sun high in the sky, possibilities endless. Hedgerows and meadows and trees all fully alive. Fresh lemonade in a jug. I have had Thorn champagne style but here, just bottle conditioned, yet it is still so full of vigour and energy. It’s a party. Thorn is stood at the decks. Neon shades with reflective lenses. Hawaiian shirt undone to halfway. Big headphones, one on, one off. Palms coming together above their head. Theres a sourness, more than just lemon, engaging all my senses. DJ Citrus in in Da House. Even as I hold the glass up the light, the tiny floaty bottle conditioned bits shimmer and it feels like I can see sparks. The tannins start to pull at the front of my mouth. A little gurn. Eyes wide but smiling. They talk about acidity softening but this is a 2019, and its still so fresh and current. There is an intensity and drive. It’s a mega mega Perry thing. Thorn Slippy. 

Brown Bess. On the nose its meadow green with a really enticing delicate hedgerow florality. Green skinned fresh pear. Fresh new leaves and am ever so slightly herby vibe. Its friendly, almost tender, like the sort of perry you would introduce to your parents. “Hi Mum, this is Billie Joe, he’s in a band.” She responds “The Green Days love, oh, they sound nice.” And then as you taste it you realise there’s more to this character than the aroma suggests. Theres an attitude, a citrussy acidity, and then the tannins that start to pull your cheeks tighter. My face tilts to one side, and my eyes open. I lean forward like the microphone has insulted my political choices. Theres almost a faint bitter earthy note that feels slightly raucous, a touch aggressive. I like the intensity. It hits where its supposed to. 

Henre Huffcap – Summer beach vibes. There is a faint tropical breeze over warm water. It feels like the early evening sun is on my face and my feet are nestled in the sand. Warm honeyed notes drift across. Theres a soft bubble which lifts and there’s huge fruit – apricot, mangoes and papyrus all coated in honeyed sweetness. It ends with a little lime sour squeeze. At first I think its lacking some tannin, but as I sit there I notice my tongue starts sweeping and the gums feel ever so slightly tight. Another sip is needed. Its high toned and percussive. People are dancing, life is good.  The temptation is to suggest a Caribbean steel drum type music. But its much more emotional than that. It feels like a vivid summer dream, but one that when the bottle is finished fades out of view leaving just tantalising contours. Energy, an experience, a sonic embodiment of elevated emotions. It brings a frisson – the chills down the spine. There is no musical match here – its whatever music takes you away, makes you feel good. Close your eyes and make it last forever.

Taynton Squash – A perry at the absolute top of its game. Showcasing virtuosity. The colour pours dark, and it’s a punchy alcohol at 7.9%. Theres an aroma of dark pear skin, rough, and some herbs. Dark fruits and dark sugars – prunes, rum and raisin, muscovado. Theres a wisp of a night after a campfire. Tawny port-esque, guaiac wood, complex heavy and aromatic. Decadent. On the taste its sweet, but at 7.9%, it must just be the unfermentable sorbitol, or even just its rich decadent impression. I want to be a part of it. There is smidge of perry citrus lift, but it goes straight into soft tannins – layered and complex. Warming. Its instantly recognisable as a perry but unlike any perry I have ever tasted. It is perry, but its more, much more than this. Theres a richness and a thickness. Each sip becomes an event. Elegant. Its total fireside listening. Smooth, rich, velvety. Strong. It wears a Fedora. Fly me to the moon and let me drink Taynton Squash. 

Gin – Gin is all about the greens. Ebbs from light green to forest green, fresh salad to meadow grass and summer hedgerow. Lime peel rolled on the kitchen worktop, wind through a pine forest. Each visit revealing something new. A little more yellowy green to the taste with a little more citrus zing.  Each taste is lively and brings an energy. Just as the sweet, citrus tang starts to build, it fades and moves delicately into a soft dryness. The bassy notes of the tannins. There are so many instruments at play here – the flavours ebbing and flowing. Everything is brilliantly intertwined. Orchestral. It feels dry but starting in a delicate way and building. First at the front of my mouth so my tongue heads that way. Then like a conductor with his baton gesturing I feel another dry spot down near the third molar. Then up. And across. It prickles and pitches in perpetual motion. Lively and bold. Allegro. Mozart’s Flute Quartet in D major. Movement 1. 

Oldfield – The aroma is all late summer walk. The blue skies turning cream, The shadows lengthening. You are sat on the edge of a cove, picnicking on fresh pears, as the coastal breezes brings salty freshness up the rock pools way below.  Theres a hint of petrol, but in a good way like the farmer cutting hay in the adjacent field. And then its gone, like the tractor has turned on its opposite run. On the taste there’s that pear, coupled with big juicy lime. A nice elevating squeeze of acidity, soft tannins just gripping the cheeks. Its light and delicate and evocative. At first I struggle to place this summery, natural, musical association. I sit quietly and it calls out. Its obvious. Its birdsong. The rippling clean whistling of the robin, the high pitch wibbles of the dunnock, the tannin presenting like the bassy woo-woos of the common wood pigeon a few hedgerows away. The flavour is like surround sound, the acidity and tannin balanced. Often I see the word ‘poised’ on these pages describing a favour. What is that? This is it. Its comfortable. It has confidence. It calls out. 

Flakey Bark – Some music is atmospheric. And Flakey Bark feels moody. It pours dark gold, and the aroma is that of looking out the window as a storm encroaches. Theres a dark sky as the rain falls hitting the leaves and branches outside, and you feel like the wet wood and earth are coming to get you. Even the floaty bits swirl in the glass menacingly.  There a little sweetness and the carbonation lifts it slightly casting a penumbral lightness, but you close the curtains. By the third sip the monster has come. A portal has opened up. A phenolic demagorgon from the upside down has grabbed hold and starts to grip and numb your tongue. Theres a real astringent dryness and your gums get drawn in towards the desolation. You need friends. Cheese and cracker break the spell. This is a perry that’s full of character, an experience, and a drink that’s poignant as there are less than a dozen trees left. 

Green Horse – As I hold the glass to my nose the aroma is hazy light green and wet. Which is not that strange as that is exactly how it looks. I’m transported to the back garden with the grass recently cut and the pond bubbling with life. There is an every so slight herbal note, like the breeze swirled through the kitchen garden before tunnelling under the frame supporting the green beans and sugar snap peas. It’s not showy or vivacious like some perry varieties, just relaxed and easy listening. There’s a nice feel of fresh lime to the taste but both the acidity and tannin are soft. Its moreish and refreshing. If Green Horse was an album it would be called ‘NOW, That’s what I Call a Summer Garden Get Together’. You have gone round the neighbours – they have shown you their tree fern, its restrained, polite, pleasing in a euphonious way. Its bright and clean and friendly, its no fuss and its not demanding – maybe there’ s a little bit of sax accompanying a soft vocal, and now you don’t want to go home. 

Music has always played a huge role in my life. And in the last few years perry has started to feature large too. 

Imagine growing up not surrounded by music. And then one day going round a friend’s house and they share their favourite album with you. Suddenly the world seems brighter, horizons wider. Discovering perry for the first time can be the same. 

Or even more extreme like learning an instrument. Years are years before even the smallest payback. For perry trees – why would anyone plant one? The fruits on our six-year old perries will probably just about cover the bottom of a black builders bucket. Hardly worth pressing – except we will of course as perry is so rare and so precious. 

Perry and music. Emotive, layered, idiosyncratic. Simultaneously of the now, and yet timeless. Of a place yet everywhere. Hundreds of years old, yet bang on the zeitgeist. 

If perry be the underappreciated fermented beverage of joy, drink on.